


A Better Fate than Wisdom: About Attraction

by Leandra



Series: A Better Fate than Wisdom [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Epic Love, Filthy kissing, Kissing, M/M, Merlin is a Little Shit, POV Merlin (Merlin), Porn with Feelings, Sex Pollen, so many feelings, trope: sex pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22188559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leandra/pseuds/Leandra
Summary: “Seriously, Merlin,” Arthur drawled, stepping closer and halting his hands, “you are so terribly clumsy, it’s a wonder you haven’t cut something off with your sickle that isn’t a rye ear.” He reached with steady fingers, hooking the waterskin safely back into Merlin’s belt. They were standing close, so close, and Arthur’s hands were at his waist and Merlin, who was already flustered, felt his heart skip a beat. Please, he thought, please, not knowing what it really was he wanted. He sighed in relief when Arthur stepped back to pick up his sickle again and bent to retrieve his own.*-*Sex pollen, a rye field, filthy kissing and too many feelings.Written for the Merthur!kissfest.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: A Better Fate than Wisdom [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579525
Comments: 23
Kudos: 394
Collections: The Merlin/Arthur Kiss Fest 2019





	A Better Fate than Wisdom: About Attraction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arthur_pendragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthur_pendragon/gifts), [LeFayArt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeFayArt/gifts).



> The third part in a four-part series for the Merlin/Arthur Kiss Fest 2019. Each part will feature a different season, a different set of kisses and at least one trope :-)
> 
> Merlin's POV here.
> 
> Series Title comes from the e.e.cummings poem "since feeling is first": and kisses are a better fate than wisdom.
> 
> Thanks once more to my wife raina_at for the beta!
> 
> Gifting this work to arthur_pendragon and LeFayArt for organising the fest :-) thank you!

Arthur’s breathing was soft and even. He was deeply asleep, not five feet from where Merlin himself was lying on a narrow cot. Merlin had been listening to Arthur’s gentle snores for what had to be at least two candlemarks by now, but not even the regular, soothing rhythm of it was able to lull him to sleep. It was the eve before the harvest festival and Arthur had been invited as the guest of honor to the small village of Pontnewyddhad which they had visited earlier this year to help out with the flooded fields. The villagers had managed to bring in some harvest after all and because Arthur had relieved them of their taxes and sent help to repair houses and crop fields, they would manage to get over the dark winter months just fine. Tomorrow, the harvest festival would begin with the traditional last reaping of the fields and Arthur was called upon to cut the last rye. 

Being back in Pontnewyddhad made Merlin acutely recall what had happened after leaving here a couple of months ago, during one of the worst heat waves Camelot had seen since he had been a child. 

Ever since that day, things had changed between Arthur and him. Arthur seemed to value Merlin’s advice just as much (which meant, it was 50-50 calling him a moron or a genius) and he still took him on every outing, every journey and had him serve at every banquet. He had made good on his promise and hadn’t replaced him as a manservant. Over the course of several uncomfortably awkward weeks, they had found back to their usual banter, if somewhat stiffly: Arthur still complained about Merlin’s questionable skills as a royal servant while Merlin continued to call Arthur Prince Prat to his face whenever he deemed it was necessary to take his arrogance down a notch. 

And still, things were different in small, but significant ways. Where earlier, Arthur might have put a friendly hand on his shoulder, gave him a pat on the back, playfully ruffled his hair or tackled him to the ground as if Merlin was a knight on the training field deserving of a beating, he now kept his distance, never so much as coming closer than a few feet. Merlin hadn’t realised until it had stopped how often Arthur had touched him, how he had constantly reached for him, whether it was for comfort or punishment. Merlin missed the easy camaraderie conveyed through Arthur’s touches, the care and fondness he had been able to feel. Arthur wasn’t particularly good with words, at least when it came to personal matters, but he always had been a tactile person, and even the worst kind of roughhousing had spoken volumes of Arthur’s affection for him. 

Back when he had first met Arthur, Merlin had never thought he could even like him, because he seemed so arrogant and spoiled with the knowledge of one day becoming king. It hadn’t taken long for Merlin to see that despite outward appearances and first impressions, Arthur had a big heart full of compassion for people and that he was readily taking on responsibility if it meant help could be given to those who needed it. Quickly, Merlin hadn’t needed any more convincing from old dragons and prophecies to realise that he would give his life for Arthur’s. It wasn’t even because he thought that Arthur’s life was worth more than his own or that he cared so much about Arthur’s destiny, it was because he wouldn’t have been able to live if it meant Arthur was to die. 

Somewhere along the way, his fondness and dedication had taken on a different quality, but for a while, Merlin had figured it was because he thought of Arthur as his friend. Arthur had become the central point of his life, the one person he sought recognition from, the one he trusted most. Arthur had become his strength, just as much as his weakness. He had never before felt about anyone the way he did about Arthur and the intensity of his devotion frightened him. 

Sometimes Merlin thought that what had happened at the pond during midsummer was something that belonged into the realm of fever dreams. At times he wasn’t sure if it had really occurred at all. It was preposterous just remembering it: Arthur, the future king, had kissed him, Merlin, who he thought was simply a servant, and a male one at that. Merlin was sure that if he had told anyone about this, people would be laughing their heads off, believing Merlin had finally gone mad. But Arthur _ had kissed him _ , and while the memories were slightly hazy with the intoxication of pleasure, Merlin figured he would never forget the feel of Arthur’s mouth on his neck or the look in his eyes when he had knelt between Merlin’s legs, looking up at him, before he had bent his head and-

With an annoyed hiss, Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shake off the sudden dizziness of arousal. He was pretty sure the image of Arthur on his knees, licking up his release with sure flicks of his tongue would stay with him until he died. Worse, Merlin had gotten inappropriately hard whenever he caught a glimpse of Arthur’s tongue swiping over his lips. It had made serving at banquets rather challenging and he suffered through most of them with a heated face and red ears, glad that his trousers and tunic were loose and hid any reaction he might be displaying. Over the last few months, he had more than once invoked the memory of the moment, in the stillness of the night, lying alone on his narrow pallet, his cock in his hand, wondering at the warmth and wetness of Arthur’s mouth. He had only a vague idea what it would feel like because nobody had ever done this to him before, even though there had been the occasional girl who probably wouldn’t have been averse to pleasuring him with her mouth. 

Now, lying awake in the dark so close to Arthur, listening to his breath coming even and untroubled, Merlin clamped his hand between his knees to still his fidgeting limbs and his wandering thoughts and forced himself to think of the harvest fest tomorrow, of the good food and drink that awaited them. He thought of Arthur laughing his boisterous, carefree laugh, the sun glinting off his blond hair as he tossed his head back, laugh lines around his mouth and eyes. 

When finally Merlin’s breathing was back under control, his arousal had dissipated and he relaxed gradually. He felt his heart rate slow as his eyes grew heavier. Relief flooded him, as he realised sleep was just about to claim him and bring with it rest for his body and mind. 

*-* 

The sound of the sickle swishing through the air before cutting through grain had become rhythmic a while ago, like music maybe, or the steady, neverending bubbling of a small stream. 

Arthur had taken to the task of reaping the last field with his usual stoic practicality, cutting the grain expertly and quickly, as if he had never done anything else in his life, a natural, even though having been brought up in a castle and not in a farmer’s cottage. Merlin, who despite having cut grain before because field work in Ealdor had been a task for every able-bodied young male, had to begrudgingly admit that Arthur was faster than him, his cuts cleaner, his bales of grain steadier and more orderly bound. They were both sweating, and Merlin could already feel the strain in his lower back from bending over and moving the sickle close to the ground to sever the stalks, but Arthur’s good mood was infectious and the work didn’t seem so bad in good company. 

With a soft grunt, Arthur bundled together the latest bale of rye, before pausing to wipe sweat from his brow. 

“Still dreaming of giving up on being heir to the throne and becoming a farmer instead?” Merlin asked, slightly out of breath as he paused too, pushing himself up from his crouch, his back protesting. 

Arthur laughed and mopped his sweaty face into the arm of his loose tunic some more. “It’s a simple life,” he said, looking at Merlin with a strained, but happy grin, “but I could see myself enjoying it.” 

Merlin snorted and reached for the waterskin hanging on his hip. “You’d be begging to return to your comfy castle life within a fortnight, Sire,” he said, rolling his eyes at Arthur fondly. “You’d have to work constantly. No servant to bring you your food, wash your laundry, draw you a bath or turn down your bed. However would you cope,” he teased with a wicked grin, enjoying the laugh his words drew from Arthur. He twisted his waterskin open, before bringing it to his lips and taking a healthy swig. In his haste, he spilled some water down his chin, but the wet coolness was welcoming and he let it trickle down his neck to be soaked up by his neckerchief.

“You seem to not know my lazy arse of a servant,” Arthur quipped good-naturedly. “I swear, he likes to pick the best morsels from my plate, he ruins my best tunics with his washing, he never manages to get my bathwater adequately warm and I strongly suspect he takes a nap in my bed, when I’m not around, because my linens are always wrinkled.” 

“I pity you, my lord,” Merlin said mockingly, then held out his waterskin for Arthur. 

He watched as Arthur dipped his head back and drank deeply. Merlin bit his lip, feeling his gaze drawn to the apple of Arthur’s throat and he hastily averted his eyes, sweeping them over the rest of the field instead. It seemed like nearly every villager was out on the field - well, everyone except the women preparing the fest - and they were almost done. It was a good feeling sharing this task, and he felt proud of Arthur for being here today and joining in heartily and readily. Arthur could have just done the ceremonial bit and cut an ear or two and the villagers would have been very satisfied with having the honour of the prince bringing good fortune to their fields, but instead he was working and sweating with everyone else until it was done. Once more, he was proving himself to be a future king worthy of his subjects’ respect, and Merlin’s heart swelled with happiness for the man Arthur was and would be. Not so long ago, Arthur’s arrogance would have forbidden him to see what was right, but he had grown, and while every step forward had been paid for by another brush with disaster, Arthur had come out of it wiser, braver and with a greater understanding for the world around him than before. 

Arthur pressed the waterskin back into his hands and their fingers brushed briefly, the touch zinging through Merlin like what he imagined lighting must feel like. He felt a blush creep up his neck and heat his cheeks, and he fumbled with the waterskin, trying and failing repeatedly to reattach it at his belt. 

“Seriously, Merlin,” Arthur drawled, stepping closer and halting his hands, “you are so terribly clumsy, it’s a wonder you haven’t cut something off with your sickle that isn’t a rye ear.” He reached with steady fingers, hooking the waterskin safely back into Merlin’s belt. They were standing close, so close, and Arthur’s hands were at his waist and Merlin, who was already flustered, felt his heart skip a beat.  _ Please _ , he thought,  _ please _ , not knowing what it really was he wanted. He sighed in relief when Arthur stepped back to pick up his sickle again and bent to retrieve his own. 

Arthur cleared his throat. “You know, the best part of all this is that there’s a feast waiting when we’re finished,” he said conversationally, before swishing the sickle through the rye. 

“Of course, my lord, it’s  _ food  _ you’re thinking off,” Merlin grumbled slightly disdainful, because while he had been thinking of Arthur’s hands on him, Arthur’s appetites had leaned much more to the culinary.  _ The heat must have totally gotten to my head _ , he remembered Arthur saying on that unfortunate evening not so long ago. Scowling, Merlin raised his sickle again and started to cut once more, pushing thoughts of Arthur’s capable hands and skilled tongue out of his mind. They were slowly making their way over to the edge of the field, where the field gave way to a stretch of soft grass before it met the woods. 

“I’m particularly looking forward to the roasted boar,” Arthur said, oblivious to the sour note of Merlin’s voice, cutting into the rye with vigor. 

“Quite lucky that we practically ran into it on our way here, don’t you think? Otherwise the villagers would have probably slaughtered a pig, and they really don’t have that much to spare,” Merlin said slyly, pleased with his personal involvement in the fortunate happenstance. 

“Not so lucky, obviously, there are plenty of boars in these woo-” Arthur started, then cut himself off with a curse. 

“Hmmm?” Merlin looked up, wondering if Arthur had cut himself, but was surprised to see a huge plume of yellow dust had risen from the ground just where he stood, swirling around Arthur lazily. 

“Bugger,” Arthur said, swatting at the air, trying to dispel the cloud around him, his face screwed up in disgust. “What is this?” 

Merlin rose so quickly, his blood flow couldn’t keep up and he wobbled unsteadily, before straightening.. “Arthur, just, step away from it,” he called, reaching out to pull Arthur back by his arm. The movement made the yellow cloud quiver and the dust distributed itself even more, until it was swirling around them both in lazy tendrils, creeping into their nostrils and settling into their eyes and hair. 

Merlin sneezed violently, which caused him to inhale even more of the dusty cloud in the process. “Shit, shit, shit,” he cursed, feeling the powdery substance tickle his nostrils, the taste of it thick and bitter and strange on the back of his tongue when he swallowed. He patted at his face, then wiped his tongue as if he could get rid of the alien flavour, momentarily distracted. Arthur took the opportunity to free himself from Merlin’s grip and stumble away, towards the edge of the field. He was staggering into the direction of the woods like a drunk, clutching his head, his steps wobbly and uncoordinated. 

Merlin called out after him, wondering what Arthur was even doing, but Arthur didn’t stop, not even when he had to forcefully push through the brambles that grew at the edge of the trees. 

Another sneeze wrecked Merlin and he nearly doubled over. When he could finally straighten himself again, his eyes were streaming, and swearing, he wiped his snotty face into his neckerchief. 

“Arthur!” With an annoyed groan, Merlin took off after him, finding that he himself felt befuddled, his feet not entirely doing what he wanted them to do. He burst into the trees where Arthur had vanished, scratching himself horribly on the thorny bushes, his feet getting tangled in the thickets. He keeled over and slammed face-down into the undergrowth, cursing as he spit out oak leaves and pine needles. 

“Arthur!” 

Nobody answered him, and with a grunt, Merlin pushed himself to his feet, his fingers slipping in the damp, rich soil. He swayed with a sudden bout of dizziness, with an awakening inside of him, primal and hungry and wild, like something finally freeing itself from its cage after having being locked inside for a very long time. He looked around for Arthur and found him briskly making his way deeper into the woods with a good headstart on Merlin. 

He followed the trail of Arthur’s hasty escape through the bushes like following a scent, growing irritated because Arthur didn’t seem inclined to stopping at all, brushing aside branches and underbrush carelessly. Merlin, who followed in his wake and was slowly catching up, was getting twigs whipped into his face for his trouble, and he held up his hands to shield his eyes and save his eyesight. His belly gave a tug - it was starting to feel like ants had settled in his guts and he clenched his teeth, suddenly assaulted with the memory of Arthur licking into his ear. A shudder travelled through his body, a shockwave that started in his core and radiated outwards into every part of his body, and he recognized the feeling for what it was. 

Even though the rational, scientific part of his brain realised what was so obviously happening - and curse magic and magical plants, seriously! - the animal part snarled at him, telling him to run faster, find Arthur, satisfy the dark desire coursing through his veins. 

He crashed into a clearing and came to a sudden halt, his breath coming in short, heaving pants. Arthur had stopped in the middle of the glade with his hands balled into fists at his side, looking slightly mad and defeated. 

“You should not have come,” Arthur told him, his voice dark and his tone resigned. “You shouldn’t have followed me, you  _ idiot _ .”

Merlin was momentarily confused by the mix of anger and arousal that flooded him at Arthur’s words and he let his displeasure show in the furrowing of his eyebrows and the glare he bestowed on him. 

"I’m always following you," he ground out, feeling himself vibrate with the strange and heady mix of emotions he was experiencing, “I’m your idiot servant, remember? Besides, who knows what will happen if I don’t go after you. You always manage to get into the most spectacularly buggered situations and then I have to rescue your stupid royal arse and-” 

“And I’m your prince,” Arthur shot back just as angrily, his eyes blazing, “and right now, I tell you-,” he interrupted himself with a huff of sudden enlightenment,” - no!, I  _ command you  _ to leave me alone!”

The effect of Arthur’s sharp words were ruined by how he had taken a step forward, then another. His eyes were frantic and his fists clenched and unclenched as if he was prepping for a tavern brawl. Merlin felt his body respond in kind, his muscles tightening and his skin prickly the closer Arthur got. 

"You really shouldn’t be here, at all," Arthur groaned out, even as he took another step, standing now within arm’s reach of Merlin. "This is such a bad idea, tremendously bad,” he started, and trailed off to curse, looking at Merlin with a look of such desperation that Merlin almost felt sorry at his plight, "... I swore to myself I would- " Arthur continued, then swallowed, before breathing out, "I’m so terribly sorry, please, ...". 

Merlin swallowed thickly, unable to form any words, shaking with the knowledge that he was going to lose control of the situation, if he’d ever had any. He was aroused and scared and that was a horrible combination and he fought desperately to hold onto the last shreds of his dignity and not give into the wild, terrible desire that wanted to break free and pull Arthur towards him or push him to the ground to do things to him that Merlin hadn’t dared even think about in the solitude of his room. 

"Merlin," Arthur whispered, looking just as distressed and frightened, and then he crashed to his knees on the forest floor and wrapped his arms around Merlin’s middle, burrowing his face into Merlin’s hip, his breath coming fast and laboured, his finger tight on Merlin’s hip bones.

Merlin’s eyes dropped shut and he exhaled a shaky sigh at the contact of Arthur’s warmth against him. Arthur’s heated breath was wetting the skin through the fabric of his tunic. Merlin’s hand found its way into Arthur’s hair and he carded is fingers through the soft strands, trying to be soothing, despite the fact that having Arthur this close was making him lightheaded, his resolve, if he ever had any, crumbling. He kept on stroking Arthur’s hair, his own breathing getting faster. He hadn’t thought that touching someone like this would feel so good, would excite him so much, would set his whole body on fire. He was trembling badly with trying to hold back and not take action. Then again, he probably didn’t need much stimuli with the polluted wheat wreaking havoc with his body. 

Against his belly, Arthur was making soft, needy sounds, his fingers scratching over the fabric of Merlin’s tunic until they found their way underneath, exposing Merlin’s heated skin to the cool forest air. Arthur’s lips brushed his skin, soft and slow, almost reverent, and Merlin exhaled a curse and shivered, weak-kneed and burning up with arousal, his eyes still squeezed tightly shut. “It’s all right,” he said shakily, his finger’s sliding once more through Arthur’s hair, tightening on the silky strands. “It’s all right,” he repeated, his words meant to be soothing, but coming out hoarse and needy. 

Arthur groaned relief into his skin, before pressing another kiss to his belly, this one open-mouthed and wet. His fingers had loosened their tight grip on Merlin’s hips and were now tugging at Merlin’s belt until it dropped away, landing on the soft forest floor together with the waterskin Arthur had attached so carefully earlier. Merlin’s eyes flew open and he glanced down at the crown of Arthur’s head, where his own, long fingers were still carding through the blond locks. Heat licked at his insides and pooled in his groin. He was hard, so hard it was bordering on painful and any embarrassment he might have felt about being hard in front of Arthur was inconsequential, because Arthur was pulling at the drawstring of his trousers and surely, the tent in the fabric was hardly able to go unrecognised. 

He whimpered when Arthur’s fingers had successfully loosened the strings and pulled down the fabric, freeing him from his trousers. Merlin was transported back in time to a much warmer summer day, his back laid out on the mossy river bank, Arthur between his legs, slowly licking his seed from his belly, tongue circling lower.

"Please…" he sighed out, "Arthur, come on…I’m going to  _ die  _ if you don’t-" His voice sounded shot and dark, and he tightened his grip on Arthur’s hair once more, pushing his hips forward in invitation, heedless to sounding dramatic and pushy.

"Yes. Right. Bugger it," Arthur ground out, his voice just as hoarse, and Merlin’s eyes flew shut at the first, tentative touch of Arthur’s lips and tongue. His knees nearly buckled at the warmth of Arthur’s breath and mouth slipping over him and something tight and possessive blossomed in him, making him grunt out a curse and pull at Arthur’s hair. 

Against him, Arthur shivered with a delicious little sound from the back of his throat that travelled up the length of Merlin’s cock, so he did it again, gripped more tightly in Arthur’s hair, his fingers flexing against Arthur’s scalp. 

Arthur’s mouth felt so good on him, warm and wet and soft, and he reckoned he had never before in his life felt anything so perfect. His hips jerked forward, following the retreat of Arthur’s mouth and he was amazed when Arthur moaned and slackened his jaw, grunting an affirmation. Merlin glanced down, equally parts reverent and horrified at the sight of his cock sliding between Arthur’s wet, open lips, because here, on his knees in the middle of the forest was the future king of Camelot with Merlin’s cock in his mouth and Merlin wondered if it counted as offense against a sovereign, if said sovereign seemed to enjoy himself. 

"Shit, Arthur," he murmured, awed, and he pulled on Arthur’s hair to counteract the rhythm his hips were starting to dictate. Arthur’s arms had snaked around his waist, fingers digging in the small of his back and the swell of his buttocks. There was no way Merlin would last, not with how his pleasure was spiralling out of control so fast, not with the way Arthur moaned and used his tongue - and how was he any good at this, had he pleasured a man before or was it another thing that just came easily to him?, Merlin wondered absentmindedly. It was so good, it was almost too much and then Arthur did something with his lips and tongue that upped the intensity and made Merlin slam forward with a shout and come so abruptly, he barely had the sense to push Arthur away. 

He nearly doubled over with the force of his orgasm, shoving weakly and unsuccessfully at Arthur, his panting breath suddenly loud over the rushing in his ears. His hands were pushed away, a warm tongue cleaning his oversensitive skin, and Merlin nearly sobbed with a combination of pleasure and embarrassment, feeling frayed open and naked in more ways than one. 

When Arthur finally released him Merlin dropped to his knees, unable to hold himself up any longer. He fell forward into Arthur’s embrace, panting out desperate breaths against Arthur’s neck as he tried to slow his beating heart. Arousal was still drumming through his body, slightly sated but still demanding. The drumming of Arthur’s heart against his chest was frantic and he became aware of a trembling that wasn’t his. He pulled back and found Arthur shaking, his pupils blown and his face flushed. 

“What do you need?” he heard himself ask, his voice raspy and low. He had never heard himself sound like that before, as if he had any idea of being with someone other than a quick tumble in the hay with some girl who he could barely make out in the dark. 

Arthur still didn’t say anything, just looked at Merlin, his fingers digging into his thighs where his hands were resting. He was looking flushed and crazed, hair sticking up at the back of his skull where Merlin’s hand had gripped and pulled. 

“If you won’t take anything, I will give it. I swear, it’s you who’s sarding stupid, what with your false notions of nobility or whatnot,” Merlin muttered petulantly, knowing he wanted to rile Arthur up, because everything was better than Arthur staring at him like this with his eyes glazed over and not doing anything about it. 

Arthur licked his lips, shook his head. “No,” he said, shaking his head again, “it’s all right, Merlin. I don’t require-”

“Anything, my lord. Anything. For you.  _ Arthur _ .” 

Merlin knew it was true, was true in every sense. He would give everything to Arthur, mind, body, soul. He had given his life. He would give anything Arthur would take. 

Arthur made a distressed sound, the only warning before Merlin found himself tackled into the forest floor, Arthur’s heavy weight knocking the wind out of him. 

“You,” Arthur breathed, his face so close that Merlin could have counted the tiny summer freckles on his nose if he wanted to, “you have no idea, do you?” 

Merlin exhaled a trembling breath as Arthur reached out to brush a strand of hair from his eyes, his touch gentle and careful, like Merlin was especially delicate and fragile, which was so at odds with Arthur’s usual touches, his rough shoves and manly pats and which made Merlin shake all the more for it. 

He felt like he ought to say something, maybe a quip about how he kind of had an idea, because Arthur’s arousal was pressing against his hip, but his voice wouldn’t work, and then Arthur’s mouth crashed onto his, stealing any words that might have made their way from his lips. 

_ Finally _ , Merlin thought,  _ finally _ . 

It was just as good as he remembered, if not better, definitely different, he thought as Arthur parted his lips with a press of tongue, sliding into his mouth with a groan. Arthur’s mouth tasted slightly bitter and Merlin moaned at the realisation of why that was, his mouth falling open to let Arthur explore. One of Arthur’s hands had come up to frame Merlin’s face, thumb rubbing across his jaw in the same rhythm as Arthur’s tongue stroked into his mouth to tangle with his own. It was lovely and arousing and turned filthy when Arthur’s hips started to follow the rhythm of their kissing, shoving down hard whenever he pushed forward with his mouth, his tongue dipping into Merlin’s mouth in an imitation of another, even more intimate, act. 

Merlin had hardened again, his cock twitching with every movement of Arthur’s hips, and he wanted, needed to do something about it, make this more than a desperate chase for friction. With a gasp he pulled away, turning his head as Arthur followed his mouth blindly, mouthing at his bottom lip and worrying it between his teeth. Merlin’s hand was unsteady when he pushed it between them, tugging on Arthur’s trousers and pushing them aside together with his smallclothes. He gasped when Arthur’s cock dragged over his belly, hot and hard and leaving a trail of warm wetness. Against his mouth, Arthur made a needy little sound, then pushed himself up on his elbows to gain range of movement. Frantically, Merlin shoved at his own loose trousers until the naked skin of his groin came into contact with Arthur. They both hissed at the touch and Merlin dipped his head back, his eyes sliding shut at the sensation of Arthur pressing his hips down just right, their cocks sliding together, aided by the sweat between their bodies and their arousal. 

Arthur’s mouth found his again, his lips sloppy and demanding. He was breathing so quick now that he gasped into Merlin’s mouth with every thrust of his hips, but still he came back to nip or lick at Merlin’s lips again and again, as if stopping to kiss him was simply out of the question. Merlin, for his part, had never, never before been kissed like this, like he was someone to be worshipped, like this was the main course and not just merely a starter for more. He had never kissed anyone like this either, hadn’t even imagined it could be like this, so all-consuming and hot and satisfying. 

Against his mouth, Arthur made a sharp, startled noise, his hips rising before he shuddered and warm wetness seeped over Merlin’s belly and cock, dripping down between his legs as Arthur continued to move, riding out the high from his orgasm. Groaning, Merlin dug his fingers into Arthur’s forearm, nearly losing his mind with how good it felt to feel Arthur come apart against him. 

A hand reached for him, wrapping around his cock slick with Arthur’s release, and Arthur’s mouth was back, heated and sweet and wet. It didn’t take more than a couple of strokes from Arthur’s calloused fingers for Merlin to tumble over the edge, his cry stolen by another press of Arthur’s lips against his mouth. White noise rushed through him, the tension slipping away so quickly that he felt faint, blissed out and floaty. There was a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth and he allowed it to pull at his lips, smiling stupidly against Arthur’s mouth. 

For a while, the kisses continued, Arthur’s mouth brushing his lazily, softly. Merlin’s mind was pleasantly blank. He felt wrung out and sated, drifting in a haze of post-pleasure. He didn’t realise at first when Arthur pulled back, too thoroughly blissed out, but when cool air wafted over his wet skin where just moments earlier Arthur’s warmth had heated him through, he frowned and opened his eyes to find Arthur had risen and was rearranging his clothes with a slightly pinched scowl on his face. 

Merlin pushed himself up into a sitting position and winced at the mess on his stomach. With a disgusted groan, he wiped a hand over his belly, then brushed it into the leaves. He felt a flush creep up on his face, and he hastened to pull up his smallclothes and trousers, his hands unsteady and jittery. He reached for his belt, wrapping it around his middle and securing the waterskin once more. When he had finally gotten himself decent again, he looked up to find Arthur glancing down at him, his face carefully blank. A hand was extended, and surprised, Merlin allowed Arthur to pull him to his feet. For a moment they swayed and Arthur steadied them with a strong hand on Merlin’s shoulder. 

“Careful,” he said, his voice low and without inflection, just as devoid of expression as his poised face. 

Arthur let him go slowly, his hand brushing down Merlin’s arm until his fingers were trailing over Merlin’s wrist, then palm. Merlin sucked in a startled breath when Arthur’s fingers slid between his, gripping his own tightly. 

“Are you all right?” Arthur asked, his thumb stroking against the back of Merlin’s hand, a soft, gentle touch that had Merlin’s nerves on edge. Was he all right? He didn’t know how to answer that. The effect of the polluted grain seemed to have vanished and his body felt languid and loose and alive, but his mind was starting to catch up with reality. Arthur had… and then Merlin had… and Arthur… fuck, Arthur… 

“I guess,” he said, swallowing soundly. His lips felt swollen and wet and he licked them nervously, astonished when Arthur’s gaze followed the flicker of his tongue. Oh, he thought. Right. 

He thought back to that evening at Beltane, in the alcove, where they had very nearly kissed and Arthur had been so drunk. He hadn’t imagined that, he knew now. And then, a couple of months ago, when they had indeed kissed and Arthur had blamed it on the heat. He hadn’t imagined that one. And just now, tumbling to the forest floor after a brush with a magical substance - he hadn’t imagined that either. How convenient, though. They could just brush it off later, forget about it, become even a little more awkward around each other for a while. 

Was this what Merlin wanted? He didn’t know. He had no idea where they could go from here, unless it was back to their usual roles. How could they be anything else but master and servant when Arthur didn’t even know that he had magic? 

Arthur cleared his throat, blind to the thoughts rotating in Merlin’s head, his thumb still brushing Merlin’s skin. “We should go back. They’ll be looking for us, if we don’t show up soon.” 

He didn’t wait for Merlin’s answer, just tugged him along as he went, picking his way surely through the forest back towards the field. Merlin stumbled after him, confused, his thoughts tumultuous, wondering about the depth of his attraction and the impossibility of their relationship becoming anything else. 

Arthur held onto Merlin’s hand until they had reached the treeline. He only dropped it once they stepped out into the sunshine and the now harvested field. 

The End - for now.

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